Seven Meetings and a War

Something pushes at the edge of the Changeling's consciousness. That's... irritating. He doesn't want to wake up. It's warm here.

"What's wrong, little one?"

His brother stands across the street from him, nothing but warm concern in his gaze. A ball- the kind they threw back and forth for hours on end as nymphs- floats next to him, held aloft by shimmering blue magic.

"I don't know," the Changeling replies truthfully. There's nothing to be upset about.

It's an ordinary day. A beautiful one, even. Orange-red rays of sunlight cut through the cold, crisp air, brightly illuminating the hectic Vesalipolian street. Well-dressed changelings bustle by on their way to work, some stopping to buy a newspaper from the little corner shop, others grabbing warm coffees outside the bakery.

It's just an ordinary, peaceful day.

A single tear escapes the Changeling's eye. "I don't know," he repeats in a hoarse voice. "I think- I think I've done something wrong."

The older brother tilts his head playfully. "You? You couldn't get into trouble if you tried." He reaches over to pat the Changeling.

The Changeling backs away from his hoof. "I... didn't try."

His brother picks up on his discomfort and switches to a more serious tone. "Well... when we do something wrong, we don't always mean it. Sometimes we just... act under pressure."

"Someling else told me that." A distant memory pricks at him. "That was really long ago."

"They gave you good advice." His brother stares into his eyes with a sudden intensity. "There's always a chance to make things right, little one. You just have to try."

"I want to make things right," the Changeling sniffles. "I can try."

His brother gives him a fanged grin. "Fine, then. Last chance."

With a tremendous shake of the earth, the scene collapses around him, and the Changeling opens his bleary eyes to hell once more.

"Half a liter of blood, just squeeze it till it's all in," someone barks in Equestrian language. From the mildly melodic voice, it's clearly a pony. "I need him alive."

"And going too fast will kill him," another voice responds calmly. A changeling. "We've bandaged the wound, we can take our time."

A dark figure shifts in the Changeling's vision. As the water clears from his eyes, it steadily resolves itself into a very, very familiar face.

"Are you dead too, Captain?" he asks wearily. He feels numb all over. "Or is this my deus ex machina?"

Aspen's eyes widen in shock. "Little one? That's- you looked so different..."

"What's he saying, changeling? Is he on The List?" A white-furred unicorn stands behind Aspen, shifting around nervously. He clearly can't understand changeling language.

The unicorn is ignored by Aspen. "What happened to you, little one? Who did this?" He sounds almost outraged. The Changeling never saw him this worked up during all their years of service together.

"Topaz," the Changeling spits out. He feels immediately guilty for opening with such a harsh tone, and tries to change the subject. "We just got the news. Is it true? Is the Queen dead?"

Aspen unscrews a blood tube attached to the Changeling's neck. "Yes. Most of the military has already surrendered or defected to Thoraxian command. Now tell me, what happened? Where's Topaz?"

"Hey! Changeling! What are you two talking about?" the unicorn butts in with a vicious tone. The Changeling recoils from him, inching closer to Aspen.

"I'm just asking him how he get there," Aspen explains matter-of-factly in Equestrian language. "Might as well have a chat while he recovers, before we... go ahead with your plan."

The unicorn huffs and steps back, returning to rifling through a medical bag.

"What plan, Aspen?" The Changeling is suddenly alert now that the elation of being saved has worn off. The whole situation feels strange- the presence of the unicorn, Aspen's sudden arrival. He hasn't heard from the Captain in nearly three years. From what he knows, Aspen was reassigned to the deadly Northern Front, where frequent hit-and-run yak raids as well as horrible weapons of war from the Crystal Empire turned each battle into a bloodbath. "Why did you stop writing to us?"

"What happened to you?" Aspen asks again, pretending not to hear him.

"Who are the 'Thoraxians', Aspen? Why are you with a pony?"

Aspen hesitates. At last, he seems to cave in to the Changeling's barrage of questions. "You know of Thorax, little one?"

The Changeling thinks on that, vaguely recalling the name from before the war. "The harmonist traitor? Didn't he flee to Equestria at the start of the invasion?"

"He's the Supreme Commander of the harmonist military now, and they're crowning him king of the new changeling nation as soon as we take Vesalipolis. I joined them last year. I'm on a joint mission with the Equestrian military," Aspen deadpans.

The Changeling's head spins. He's barely heard of Thorax, and remembers him only as a shy political activist who sometimes gave anti-war speeches over the radio. Now he's a general? Their future king?

Even harder to wrap his head around is Aspen, of all changelings, being a defector. The former Captain wasn't a fanatic for the Queen, but he never raised any complaints about the government either, beyond the odd rant over supplies and bureaucratic mishaps. A lot must have happened in the couple of years since they last saw each other.

"Now, tell me what Topaz did to you," Aspen demands firmly, his expression making it clear that there's no room for half-answers or delays. "Is he still around?"

The Changeling licks a fang. "I... we got the news this morning, about the Queen, while we were waiting here to ambush the Equestrian advance. I wanted us to retreat and wait for orders. Topaz wanted to go ahead with the attack."

He can feel the heavy rifle in his hooves, sharp bayonet glinting dangerously in the light.

"It got heated. We fought."

"And you won?"

"I caught him by surprise." He can see the confusion on Topaz's face morphing into rage, and see his eyes pale as the life drains away from him. "He had a surprise for me, too, it turns out."

The Changeling motions to his bandaged wound. "Topaz would never have gone down... so easily. I think I'd be dead right now if you didn't show up." He grins up at Aspen. "It's a miracle."

"A miracle," Aspen mutters. He pauses, as if considering something, before continuing uncertainly, "Little one, what do you know about the Loyalist attack?"

"Loyalist?"

"That's what we're calling the remnants of the military."

The Changeling sifts through his foggy mind, trying to piece together odd fragments of radio transmissions and recent letters from his brother. "Our intelligence says the Equestrians are bringing in some important convoy once they secure the city... they're preparing a large force to ambush it, I think. My brother's with them."

Aspen nods grimly. "We know that much. The convoy is carrying some of our top generals, that's true, but it's actually a trap. We're going to obliterate the Loyalists when they strike, tomorrow evening. This is top-secret stuff."

"What?" He gapes at Aspen. "But- my brother..."

"I have to ask you this, little one." Aspen's voice is tight. Obscured by the smog, his visage suddenly seems like that of a predator waiting to strike. "Whose side are you on? Ours, or theirs? You must choose."

The Changeling shakes his head even before Aspen is done speaking. He already knows the answer. "I'm done taking sides. I just want to find my brother, and get out of here. I don't want anything to do with this."

The words come naturally to him. He feels suddenly emboldened. "I won't help you fight the Loyalists, Captain. I'm done."

There's a pause as Aspen seems to absorb the Changeling's words, eyes slightly wide in surprise.

He slowly nods and hangs his head. "I must apologise. I forgot how naive you were. I forgot there were still good changelings like you. But..." He speaks in a near whisper, not meeting the Changeling's eyes. "You're on The List. I can't do anything about that."

With a hollow laugh, the Changeling replies, "I'm not a good changeling. You're a good changeling, Captain. You were always fighting for us. I'm just running away." He's not sure what Aspen means by 'The List'.

"I hope you're done over there. We need to do this before Rhythm calls in civil defence." The unicorn levitates an innocently small needle in the air. "I think I've got the quantity right. I'm ready."

"What's that, Aspen? Is it a medicine?" He hopes it's a painkiller. The aching pain in his abdomen still won't go away.

Aspen looks up, mouth slightly agape. A dozen different emotions flick across his face. He looks between the Changeling, the unicorn, the needle, and finally, almost reluctantly, back to the Changeling.

The war on his face resolves itself, settling into an intense determination. He inclines his head to the Changeling.

"Stand up, Sergeant." Aspen's familiar, emotionless voice is back. "You might have to do some more running."

The Changeling obeys, mildly confused. It takes some effort to bring himself to his hooves, but he feels a lot stronger than before. "Where are we running to?"

"Hey, why's he getting up?" the unicorn shouts from the background. "Major?"

"I wish I could explain, but... I just need you to gallop as fast as you can in that direction. Don't look back, don't stop until you're sure you're lost," Aspen instructs the Changeling hastily, barely stopping for breath. "Don't talk to any changeling, to any pony, to anyone, unless you absolutely have to. You're a medic, you can tend to your own wounds. Look for your brother and just go into hiding till all this is over"

"What?" The Changeling is utterly lost. "Aren't you coming?"

Aspen pulls him into an embrace. He returns it, shocked by this uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"It will be over. Someday."

"Major, what the hell are you doing?" The unicorn drops the medical bag and advances aggressively towards the pair.

"Go, little one!" Aspen pushes the Changeling away.

The unicorn reaches out to stop him, but is tackled to the ground by Aspen. The Changeling slowly backs away as they fight each other on the ground, simultaneously horrified and baffled.

He turns and flees.

The Changeling doesn't look back as the smog envelops him, guided forward only by the vague glow of the fire on either side. He has no idea what just happened, except for a vague notion that the unicorn meant some harm to him. Why else would Aspen turn on a fellow soldier?

There is nothing to do but to think on this horrific idea as he bolts down the avenue. More violence, because of him. Why didn't he help Aspen? He didn't even consider the option, the possibility that he could do anything except run away.

Even now, the Changeling doesn't turn back. Not because the Captain ordered him to escape, or out of his drive to save his brother. He's just scared.

Eventually, the smoke begins to dissipate, giving way to a light smog that coats his vision in a thin grey filter. The rubbled husks lining the road gradually transition to shuttered apartments and stores, long abandoned by the fleeing Vesalipolians. The Changeling slows down to a steady march, painfully aware of his dirtying bandages.

He distantly recalls this area from long before the war. His father worked here for a time, on the construction crew that installed the ornate electrical streetlights replacing the old gas ones. They are lifeless now, starved of power by the war.

That same notion of isolation which gripped him earlier creeps up on him again. It isn't just the eerie emptiness of the streets. He repeatedly catches himself turning to ask Topaz for directions, to complain about his gnawing pain, to demand he stop hogging the water canteen. Years of Jaeger missions with his late comrade have ingrained the habits into him.

Disturbing thoughts like these tear at him as the hours pass by. Listening to the direction that the booming of gunfire comes from, and using the most recent information he has on Loyalist positions, the Changeling can roughly gauge where the frontline is. He tries to stay as parallel to it as possible, keeping to a thin corridor of safety between the ensuing battle and the bulk of the advancing Equestrian military.

Several times he's forced to hide in the shadows as military trucks speed noisily by, overflowing with heavily armed ponies. Their frequency only increases as the sun sets, giving the Changeling the uneasy impression the army is rapidly closing in.

He has no doubts what any Equestrian soldier would do if they found a lone changeling in a tattered Jaeger uniform, far away from the keen eyes of higher officers or civilian watchdogs. After all, he's seen it happen in Vanhoover; packs of violence-hungry soldiers roaming the streets in that limbo where the law is dead, all are guilty, and justice is dealt at the end of a rifle.

Not particularly eager to test his fears as the night closes in, the Changeling turns down a random back street and beelines towards the nearest front door. It's a large terraced house, looking no worse for wear from the war. He tries the handle to no avail.

Casting a furtive glance around the street- it still feels wrong somehow, breaking into someling else's property- he aims his horn at the lock and focuses a sharp burst of energy at it. The metal bolt fizzles at the edges before falling to the ground with a clunk.

The door gently swings open, revealing a tiny hallway. The Changeling quickly shuts the door behind him and wedges a coat hangar under the now boltless handle. At the very least, it'll slow down any unexpected visitors. He slowly creeps down the carpeted floor, guided through the darkness by the soft glow of his horn.

The hallway opens up into a small, cozy lounge. Purple light illuminates a couple of sofas arranged around a central table, with an open doorway leading to what seems to be a kitchen. Framed pictures and even a portrait of the Queen fill the space between the doors lining the walls.

The Changeling moves silently to the kitchen and opens a cabinet below the sink on instinct. Sure enough, a roll of cloth and bottles of strong alcohol sit cluttered around the plumbing, in the same place his own household kept them.

Struggling to see in the darkness, he gingerly unties his filthy bandages and cranes his neck to observe the wound underneath. It's still covered in blood and ash. Whoever tended to him did an awful job.

He opens the faucet. A trickle of muddy water sputters out deafeningly before ceasing altogether. He grimaces. The hard way it is.

Locating a clean rag from the cabinet, he spills some alcohol over it. Biting down with his fangs, he dabs at the wound, ignoring the stinging pain as the cloth pulls away the largest clumps of dirt and dried blood. Without any water to clean the rest off, he tears off a section of bandage and wraps it back around the gash.

His injury seen to, the Changeling hobbles over to the lounge. He hesitates at trying any of the other doors, glancing guiltily at one of the photos adorning the wall.

A large group of changelings beam down at him, each making various silly poses to the camera. There's no family resemblance between most of them- changeling nymphs are raised away from their parents, after all- but they seem comfortable and at peace with each other. A clutch from the same nursery that decided to live together, perhaps.

Who is he to disturb their home?

Instead, the Changeling hops onto one of the couches and curls up there, resting his head on his forehooves. He puts out the light and lays staring into the dark, half-heartedly planning out the next morning in his mind.

Strangely enough, the sounds of the battle outside seem to have mostly subsided. With luck, he'll be able to rest peacefully tonight. Tomorrow, though... tomorrow is uncertain. He has no idea how he'll slip past the military. He has no idea how to find the Loyalists and his brother- if he's still alive. He has no idea what to do.

It's all starting to become too much, this uncertainty. Unsure of whether what he did was right, unsure of whether what he's doing is right, unsure of whether he'll do what's right. At least with the Jaegers, there was a goal, there was someling to tell you what to do, who knew what would happen whether you succeeded or failed, or a partner to take the fall with you.

Now he's alone, and all the uncertainty rests on him.

Should he have left Topaz alive? Helped Aspen, his Captain and comrade-in-arms? Picked a side, any side? Fled the other way down the street, to someplace no one would find him as he finally perished?

Unable to bear it anymore, the Changeling finally breaks into hot, anguished tears. He has no idea. None at all. Here is a final chance, a path to the peaceful life he's wanted, granted in the blood of two changelings he still loves as comrades and family. And he has no idea if he's wasting it.

At the end of the longest day ever, in the middle of a city that has been beaten and brutalized to silence, a bannerless changeling cries himself to sleep.

"Traitor!"

The Pony reels from Aspen's blow. As he watches on in shock, the injured Jaeger leaps off into the smog, quickly fading from sight.

He can't believe what's happening. He can't believe Aspen would do this. But he is doing it, and one fact is undeniable.

"Traitor," the Pony repeats in a growl.

Aspen moves to blocks his path with a defensive stance. "There is no need to fight, pony. Let's just talk."

The Pony yells and bounds forward, tackling Aspen to the ground. He's braced for the blow though, and throws the Pony back, leaving both of them lying dazed on the ground.

Thinking quickly, the Pony levitates his rifle up from where it lies near Aspen. The changeling acts faster and kicks it away, out of the range of his magic.

Seizing the opening, the Pony leaps ahead again. He aims a lethal forehoof at Aspen's neck. The strike is just barely dodged with a roll to the side. The changeling deftly climbs to his hooves to face the Pony.

The two slowly circle around, watching each other warily.

"Let's talk, pony. I have more experience than you. I'll win eventually," Aspen states. He's aloof as ever, no hint of boastfulness or pride in his voice. Just clear-cut facts.

The Pony shakes his head in disbelief. "Talk? Talk? We're far past that."

The rage, the outrage at being betrayed wells up inside him, filling his vision with red. "I trusted you, y'know. I thought you were one of the GOOD. FUCKING. CHANGELINGS," he screeches out, feinting another direct rush at Aspen.

As the changeling prepares for his assault, he instead dodges past him and leaps for the gun. Too late, Aspen realizes what's happening and dives for cover.

With some relish, the Pony lines up the crosshair with the changeling and pulls the trigger.

Bang!

A chunk of the street is thrown up as Aspen just barely makes it behind a pile of rubble, the blazing fire obscuring him from view.

"Fuck," the Pony mutters, levitating the gun alongside him as he chases after Aspen. He spots the uniformed changeling slipping into a burning storefront, and quickly rushes to pursue.

The scene inside is something straight from hell. An unbearable heat chokes the Pony, drenching his fur in sweat, as he navigates between rows of charred shelves. It's impossible to see through the thick, black smoke.

"Hiding, are you, changeling?" he gasps out. "You're so wily and deceptive, aren't you?"

He whips around as something moves at the edge of his vision. It's just a clump of paper, thrown about by the fiery air. Starting to feel uneasy, he forges onwards more cautiously.

"Your kind is so eager to help us," the Pony continues more slowly, thinking over each word. "So willing to try and fix the tragedies of the past. And I was content with that, even though I shouldn't have been."

The shelves open into a wider area, with large display racks that tilt precariously on their seared bases.

"Because even if your apologies weren't sweet nothings..."

He creeps towards a row of shelves, movement clearly audible from there.

"And even if you backed up your promises of change with something, anything..."

He stops at the edge of the shelf and stands up on his hind legs, grabbing the levitating gun from the air with his forehooves.

"It wouldn't bring any of the lives back, would it?"

With that, the Pony whips around the corner of the shelf, swinging his rifle expertly to aim down the aisle. There's nothing there.

"No, it wouldn't," Aspen whispers to his right.

Crack!

A blow to the side of the head sends the Pony staggering backwards.

Head ringing, he lifts the rifle and fires blindly into the smoke. The gunfire is greeted with a surprised yelp, and then deafening silence.

The Pony throws his rifle to ground and stumbles towards the aisle. Aspen lays crumpled against the shelf, ventilating heavily. Suddenly exhausted from the oppressive heat, the Pony slides down to sit next to him.

"I didn't think you would actually shoot me." Aspen chuckles, shaking his head in an exaggerated motion. "That was stupid. You already pulled the trigger earlier."

"Why'd you do it, Aspen?" the Pony utters wearily. "Why'd you throw it all away for some worthless Jaeger?"

Aspen stares upwards, muttering something in Changeling language. A prayer, perhaps.

"Are you just that disloyal? Needed something else to betray?" he continues.

"Disloyal? That was loyalty, there," Aspen heaves out. He turns to stare at the Pony, giving him a pained smile. "That was loyalty to my morals. To the world I want to build."

Even through the ash clogging up the air, his eyes seem to glow with fiery conviction. "That was a good changeling, Major. That was a changeling who should live to see what peace looks like."

The Pony shakes his head in disbelief. "Then he shouldn't have been a solider, yeah?"

Aspen shrugs dismissively. "Life is not so simple. It sweeps you away, pulls you towards the center of the storm, no matter how hard you try to paddle in the other direction."

"Oh, knock it off." He's starting to get tired of the changeling's flowery speeches. "You're a Loyalist, aren't you? That Jaeger had some important info you couldn't let slip. Shit, I was so stupid..." He buries his face in his hooves. "I really thought I could trust you."

"I'm a Thoraxian, pony. Always was." Aspen grunts in pain. "Won't be for long, though."

A glimmer of hope. He raises his head to look at Aspen. "Really? You were on my- our side?"

The changeling reaches out feebly with a forehoof, gaze locked on something far in the distance. The Pony takes it, holding on to it firmly. He needs to know.

"I- I must apologize. My nation, my peoples, have hurt yours. You're right... nothing will bring back the lives. Nothing will dig our comrades out of the- out of the earth," Aspen wheezes out.

The Pony can feel his throat closing up. He thinks of Divine Sight, of Dream, of Fast Luck, of the hundreds of other soldiers he's watched die over his years of service.

"But... we can save the lives that are left. We can protect these precious, precious people, and hold on to the hope that there are never any bodies to bury again." The agonized smile returns. "Like that changeling. If I stood by, and watched as you did those horrible things to him, I would be betraying that hope."

The two sit in silence, listening to Aspen's raspy breathing and the crackle of fire around them.

"Got a light?"

"A light?" the Pony asks, befuddled. "Aren't we inhaling enough smoke already?"

Both of them chuckle at that, the tension instantly dissipated. The Pony shakes his head.

"Nah, I don't have any cigarettes. I don't smoke."

"Shame. You think the medic- Algo Rhythm- has some?"

"'Yes, Corporal, Major Aspen is dying, do you have a ciggie for him?' He doesn't strike me as one to smoke, anyways," the Pony replies.

The mood suddenly turns sour again. Aspen sighs, running his hoof along the fin on the back of his head. "Shit. I really am going to die."

His voice sends shivers down the Pony's spine. It is weak, hopeless, afraid.

"I just wish-" Aspen's voice breaks. He draws air in a sob. "I just wish I could see my Kochite, one last time." He turns to the Pony. "Let me die under the open sky, Major. Not in this burning husk of a dwelling," he pleads.

The Pony nods, silently getting to his hooves and supporting Aspen up. Together, they slowly hobble towards the entrance. Piles of ash crunch underhoof as they move past the smouldering shelves and burning piles of rubble, out into the blissfully cool air.

"I'm letting you down now, OK?" the Pony informs Aspen as they reach the center of the street.

No response.

"Aspen?" He gently lowers the immobile changeling to the ground. "Who is Kochite, Aspen? Is that your wife?"

The changeling stares up at the sky with dull eyes, not a sign of life in them.

"Major!" somepony yells through the smog. Algo Rhythm comes bounding on the scene, rifle slung along his barrel, one forehoof desperately trying to keep a poorly-fitted helmet on. "I heard gunfire, did- holy shit, is that Major Aspen?"

The Pony shuts his eyes tightly, trying to maintain his composure. The image of a dead changeling dances around in his vision.

"What happened, sir?"

This wasn't his fault. Ofcourse it wasn't.

"By Celestia, he's dead. Oh my- Major? Major, talk to me."

Was it his fault he followed protocol? His fault he saw an obvious threat, and disposed of it? No, it was that damn changeling who went and turned on him for an enemy soldier. For a Jaeger.

Still, the Pony can show mercy. For a friend.

"Are you alright, Major?"

His eyes fly open. "Yes, I'm alright, Corporal," he snaps. "Go and call in civil defence, tell them we were ambushed by a sniper. Major Aspen was killed and I, luckily enough, managed to return fire and scare off the enemy soldier. Put out an alert for a dark grey changeling with purple eyes."

The Pony considers for a moment. "No, scratch that, it's a fucking 'ling. Shapeshifting bastards. I don't want any soldiers interrupting the project, anyways... Just have civil defence collect the body and put out the fire." He blinks away some water leaking from his eyes. It must be all this ash in the air.

"Yes, sir," Rhythm agrees in a subdued manner, no hint of his snarky attitude from earlier.

Turning away to gather the medical supplies back into the bag, the Pony remarks over his shoulder, "Oh, and get a sheet over the body."

"Yes sir!" Rhythm salutes and rushes off to the carry out the order, giving a wide berth to the corpse.

The Pony nods back distractedly, already planning out the next course of action in his head. There are Jaegers to find, security to arrange, work to be done.

And tomorrow, when the Loyalists finally shatter themselves on the Equestrian defenses, he will reap what has been sown.